


be my wings (and take care of me)

by SinkorSwim



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bad Fic, Bad Poetry, Fluff and Angst, Harry Centric, Hospitalization, Hospitals, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Character Death, Poetic, Sad Harry, Sickfic, So much angst, also choppy as shit, comforting louis, faint ziam, larry stylinson - Freeform, lol, minor character has cancer, niall owns a bakery, ok ok ok, poor harry :(, sad fic is sad, so i cant write for shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:27:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinkorSwim/pseuds/SinkorSwim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry ends up working two jobs and dropping out of college.</p>
<p>because, fuck, his mum is sick.</p>
<p>like really, properly, sick, and his sister has been gone for years and.</p>
<p>(his mum was his only friend)<br/>----</p>
<p>or the one where harry's mum is really sick and louis is around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	be my wings (and take care of me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nameru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameru/gifts).



> i do not know what this shitty excuse for a fic is. I have literally been writing this forever b/c i wrote like 900 words of it and then just stopped b/c i was like lol im to lazy to finish it. but. then i really wanted to finish it. so thank you to JAM for kicking my ass into doing it (you guys she doesnt even like one direction, like she is so far removed from the fandom but i never stopped complaining sooooo thank you lady) 
> 
> anyways. i am so soso sorry if i butchered any british stuff (i dont have a beta or a brit picker) and i am so soososo sorry if i offend anyone with my horrible cancer/medical jargon because lets face it i have no idea what the fuck im writing.
> 
> its really choppy, and has no well planned out time line so. 
> 
> sorry i  
> am really  
> really sorry. 
> 
> oh and obvs i dont know them work of fiction etc etc

harry never had many friends.

 

he never had many friends and, like, he was truly ok with that.

 

well.

 

yeah it kind of sucked when he had to walk home alone everyday.

 

and yeah it really sucked when he had no one to talk to when he found out

 

why his mum had a bloody nose for 2 hours straight. and why

 

she could never stay awake past 7 every night.

 

it sucked. it did.

 

but.

 

really, he was fine.

 

(most of the time. sometimes.)

\----

 

sometimes harry wished his mum wasn’t sick.

 

(then maybe he could have some friends)

\----

 

harry ends up working two jobs and dropping out of college.

 

because, fuck, his mum is _sick_.

 

like really, properly, sick, and his sister has been gone for years and.

 

(his mum was his only friend)

\----

 

they pack up and leave.

 

well.

 

harry packs them each a suitcase,

 

cleans the house,

 

and empties the fridge.

 

anne needs special medical attention and the closest place is doncaster.

 

(they leave and harry can’t say he’ll miss it.)

\----

 

while anne is brave, she isn’t courageous.

 

she doesn’t let harry shave her head.

 

not even when wispy, brown locks fall from her scalp.

 

harry sweeps daily, right after he helps her shower.

 

(and god harry just wish he had some help, a friend.)

\----

 

they live in a tiny one-bedroom flat they bought after selling their house back in holmes chapel.

 

harry doesn’t mind that he doesn’t have his own room.

 

he’s never home during the day because he’s working,

 

and when he comes home anne is asleep.

 

harry always sleeps in her room, on the floor.  

 

(because he’s afraid she’ll stop breathing)

\----

 

one night harry comes home and anne is awake.

 

she is lying in bed,

 

all bald head and frail limbs,

 

and harry goes and cuddles in next to her.

 

and anne tells him a story about

 

a small boy with curly hair and bright green eyes

 

who flew.

 

whispers in the night.

 

(i love you, my sweet little boy, i love you, i love you.)

\----

the next day anne has a seizure.

 

( i love you, i love you, i love you)

\----

 

at the hospital

 

the doctors tell harry.

 

they tell this barely 18 year old kid that his mum is going to die.

 

and it’s not like last time.

 

this time they say

 

“just a few more hours”

 

“i’m sorry.”

 

“there’s nothing we can do”

 

(my sweet, little boy)

\----

 

harry sits on the ground next to a vending machine

 

on the third level

 

of a small hospital.

 

he thinks he should be crying.

 

he thinks that gemma should be here.

 

he wishes that he knew where she was.

 

someone sits next to him nudges him with his toe.

 

harry looks up, and there’s a boy.

 

a boy with blue eyes and dopey fringe.

 

and harry really should be crying.

 

the boy grins and says

 

“mate, you do know there are like, 30 chairs 5 feet away right?”

 

harry nods.

 

he nods and nods and nods.

 

because he really should be crying.

 

the kids eyes him, asks,

 

“what are you doing sitting on the floor then?”

 

and harry nods.

 

and he really should be crying.

 

“my mum just died.”

 

and then he cries and cries and oh god. his mum is dead.

 

( _i love you, my sweet little boy_ )

\----

 

the boy, louis, is gentle with harry.

 

he rocks him and kisses his hair

 

and if harry closed his eyes

 

it feels like his mum

 

and oh.

 

harry cries harder.

 

(because it’s not her, it will never be her ever again.)

\----

 

when harry has tired himself out,

 

louis stokes his cheek,

 

and asks where harry lives, and

 

if he’d maybe like a ride home.

 

harry nods, sleepily, eyes drooping as he tells louis where their- his.

 

where his flat is.

 

jesus, it’s _his_ flat isn’t it?

 

(harry’s eyes sting)

\----

 

louis takes harry home.

 

he takes harry home and

 

he lays him on the couch.

 

he goes into the bedroom and can smell the sick

 

and the sadness and the _love_.

 

louis sighs.

 

he grabs a quilt and goes back out to where harry is curled on the couch.

 

harry has fallen in on himself, shoulders hunched with grief and

 

with the weight of the world.

 

harry looks both eighty and eight all at once.

 

he looks both like someone who has taken too much, like someone who has been

 

in the world long enough to feel all the pain it has to offer,

 

and like a child, lost, searching for the one thing he can grasp.

 

for the one person he can always count on.

 

(and it hits louis then, just how alone harry really is)

\----

 

louis makes harry tea.

 

asks him, if he would like for louis to stay.

 

all harry can manage is a quick shake of his head.

 

if it was to the tea, or to louis leaving, he doesn’t know.

 

(louis goes)

\----

 

harry can’t move.

 

he can’t move and he can’t eat

 

and he can barely drag himself to the bathroom.

 

every time he goes to use the toilet he has to walk past her room and

 

it _hurts_.

 

it’s a physical pain.

 

like ropes are slowly tightening around his heart and squeezing

 

the vesicles and capillaries and the veins until they snap, one by one.

 

it hurts like someone is trying to dig a hole in his soul with a plastic knife, a slow and dull throb.

 

(it hurts and it hurts and it hurts and harry can’t help but wonder how his mum ever thought he

 

could fly.)

\----

 

harry wakes, five days later, to someone banging on his front door.

 

the sound filters into his ear and through his eardrum and into his brain,

 

swirls around and creates a rhythmic throb. harry pushes himself up and sluggishly walks to the

 

front door.

 

to say that harry had even thought of louis once in the past five days would be a lie.

 

he hadn’t thought of anything other than his mother, and how the last year of her life

 

was just sickness

 

and disease

 

and tiredness and hair falling out and paper cuts that bled for far too long.

 

he hadn’t thought about anything other than her in a long time.

 

but here louis is.

 

harry lets him in, and walks slowly back to the couch before throwing himself down on to it.

 

“hey, hey harry?” louis talks calmly, like he’s afraid harry’s going to start and run away.

 

louis lays his hand on harry’s back, and strokes slowly up a down, a constant warmth.

 

it has harry’s eyes feeling heavy with something other than sadness for the first time in days.

 

“hey, harry is there anyone I can call for you, mate? I have been sitting at home just worrying-”

 

harry cuts him off by throwing his phone at louis’ head.

 

he mumbles out,

 

“call my boss would you? tell him I won’t be in for a few more days?”

 

louis nods and dials the number harry tells him, before walking out of the room.

 

(harry would do anything to have louis stroke his back, just for a little longer.)

\----

 

louis comes back a few minutes later with a cup of tea and cheese toastie.

 

he sits back down and gently coaxes harry into sitting up and

 

_harry come on, please, please would you just eat half?_

 

harry tries, really he does. it feels like he would do anything to please louis in this moment,

 

do anything to make sure louis would just _stay_.

 

and it’s weird because he doesn’t even _know_ louis and yet he’s letting him come into his

 

home and make him tea and a fucking cheese toastie and.

 

take care of him.

 

(and harry think’s it’s strange because no one’s taken care of him in a long, long time.)

\----

 

anne had written in her will that she wanted to be cremated.

 

she had wanted to be cremated and then sprinkled in a field near their house in holmes chapel.

 

louis’s been with harry for a few hours when they hear the sound of the mail truck pulling into the

 

complex parking lot.

 

and it’s been a week and harry just knows. he knows what’s on that truck.

 

he knows his mum is stuffed up in a little brown fedex box

 

that will be dropped unceremoniously on his doormat.

 

he looks at louis, looks at him with wet green eyes, begging, pleading for him to understand.

 

louis’s hand on harry’s back pauses and he gives a sharp nod and stands.

 

(he walks out to get the mail with harry thinking, that maybe louis could meet his mum after all)

\----

 

louis comes back with a grave look on his face and his lips set into a thin line.

 

harry folds in on himself as he takes in the small brown box in louis’ hands.

 

he lays down with it, hugging it, crying into his sleeve, whimpering.

 

louis goes to comfort him but,

 

harry just shakes him off.

 

“just go louis, just go, leave, I want my mum, I just want my mummy.”

 

and harry want’s to be alone with all he has left of his family,

 

but louis just won’t leave, and he keeps saying

 

_shh it’s going to be ok, I promise._

 

but doesn’t he see?

 

it’s never going to be ok, not with his mum. not without her.

 

(he shouts at louis, screams and tosses the empty tea mug at him until he stumbles back

 

and out the door.)

\----

 

and finally harry is alone.

 

(he’s not sure if that’s what he really wanted after all.)

\----

_3 months later_

\----

 

harry was sitting behind the counter of _Niall’s Bakery_ on a rainy tuesday when he decided that

 

he missed louis.

 

he missed his fluffy hair and comforting hands.

 

and it’s not like he even knew louis at all really, but.

 

he still misses him.

 

he misses being taken care of, even though it was only for a day.

 

(he’s just had to take care of himself for so long.)

\----

 

louis comes in on a thursday.

 

he comes in laughing and poking this guy who has, like,

 

a million tattoos and blonde streak in his hair.

 

he’s giggling, saying,

 

“oh, zaynie wheres your boy now, bro?” and laughs at zayns murderous glare.

 

he walks straight up to the counter without even noticing harry.

 

and then he sees him. and he freezes.

 

and looks at harry as though he is the sun popping out from behind the clouds on the

 

rainiest day of the year.

 

whispers.

 

(harry, harry i’m so glad to see you.)

\----

 

as soon as niall had seen harry actually _hugging_ someone he had give him the day off.

 

harry had pleaded with niall in the kitchen to not make him go because,

 

_really I need the money ni, and uh, I can’t just lea-_

 

niall had cut him telling him that he would still be paid and

 

_go have some_ fun _mate, for me?_

 

(harry could never say no to niall)

\----

 

he walks two steps ahead of zayn and louis,

 

gripping his bag close to his chest, and listening to them tease each other.

 

harry tries to make himself interact but he just gets more nervous and he hates being nervous.

 

it makes him think of mum, and her little sayings that always got him back on his feet.

 

_you can fly if you try harry_

 

_I love you my sweet little boy._

 

so he stays ahead and doesn’t really talk to them but still.

 

for a second it feels, almost, as though he has some friends

 

(and isn’t that a strange concept?)

\----

 

with nothing more than a small wave and a glance at louis, zayn disappears

 

louis walks quicker, and harry slows down.

 

they are pulling each other into their space, a bubble just for them.

 

their hands brush, bump, fumble.

 

intertwine.

 

like magnets.

 

(and harry thinks that, maybe, they were always going to end up here.)

\----

 

one week later sees harry desperately trying to find his only button down.

 

and he thinks he knows where it is but.

 

he hasn’t been in there in months and he can’t even fathom trying to do that now of all times.

 

louis’s meant to be picking him up in ten minutes, and he can’t find a fucking shirt to wear.

 

he looks towards her room, the door shut tight like it has been for months, and then

 

rushes to find his ramones t-shirt.

 

(he’ll go in there one day. maybe.)

\----

 

louis picks harry up in a beat up old beamer.

 

it has all different color panelling and wow,

 

it completely describes louis, doesn’t it?

 

louis tells harry that their date is a surprise.

 

won’t give him a single clue about where their going.

 

not one.

 

it both infuriates and excites harry.

 

they jerk as the car veers right, off the main road. bumping, skidding, down a dirt path until

 

they reach a forest, and a dead end.

 

“I hope you don’t mind, it’s a bit of a walk.” louis tells harry nervously.

 

louis goes to the trunk of his car and reveals a picnic basket.

 

harry smiles and looks at louis. what a cheese ball.

 

he grabs his bag from the car and follows louis through the forest.

 

harry watches the way louis points out different types of trees and birds and moss and

 

smiles to himself because louis is just magnificent.

 

and then it all goes to shit.

 

time slows down as harry trips over his own feet and loses his grip on his bag.

 

it sails through the air and lands at louis feet, the contents spilling onto the mildewy grass.

 

(and all harry can think is, _I can’t fly mummy, I can’t, I can’t._ )

\----

 

who cares if harry has been carrying around his mum’s ashes everywhere.

 

(it’s his mum for christs sake)

\----

 

louis reaches down a picks up the plastic bag filled with grey dust.

 

he glances at harry and then closes his eyes.

 

and harry knows that everything is ruined now.

 

he almost had some friends, a boyfriend even, he finally wasn’t going to be so alone,

 

and here he was fucking everything up.

 

but.

 

louis just sighs again,

 

and then grabs harry’s hand, and says,

 

“babe, babe I know this is hard. I know, but, but why don’t we put these somewhere safe?”

 

and harry can’t help but nod.

 

and nod and nod, just like the day they met.

 

because louis didn’t think that he was fucked in the head.

 

louis wasn’t going to leave.

 

(so maybe, it would be ok to let her go, just a little bit, just this one part.)

\----

 

harry scatters his mother’s ashes as they walk.

 

it’s hard, and it’s no field in holmes chapel but. it feels right.

 

there is a constant warmth, moving up and down his back.

 

a comforting hand belonging to a boy that will always take care of harry.

 

and yeah, he’s letting her go.

 

not all of her. not forever.

 

just letting himself

 

_fly_

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> soooooooooooooooo
> 
>  
> 
> SORRY AGAIN.   
> SORRY?  
> ALSO I AM SO SORRY FOR KILLING ANNE OFF, I HOPE SHE LIVES A LONG AND PROSPEROUS LIFE FICTION NEVER COMES TRUE SORRY SORRY. 
> 
> iwishiwashiscompanion.tumblr.com


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